


Gone and Still

by Lieju



Category: Spirou et Fantasio
Genre: Gen, M/M, a halloween fic, written for a prompt 'ghosts or faerie'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-06
Updated: 2016-10-06
Packaged: 2018-08-19 22:40:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8227169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lieju/pseuds/Lieju
Summary: Zantafio had never really believed he'd manage to kill Spirou. And now he keeps seeing the bellhop's ghost...





	

 

 

At the day of the funeral, Zantafio had stayed in his hideout and sat alone in silence. Of course he wouldn't be able to go to the funeral. Not without the police arresting him. Or his cousin strangling him to death, which ever happened first. Zantafio wondered what would have happened if it had been someone else who had been responsible for the bellhop's death? If it had been Vito Cortizone who fired the bullet that had pierced his lung?

 

It was so difficult to believe that had killed the bellhop. Zantafio ran his fingers through his greying hair. He had quite never expected he could really die. Even now, two weeks later-

 

Zantafio froze, all of his instincts screaming at him how there was someone in the room with him. But where? If he could get to his gun in the drawer...

 

He sat still, pretending to look through the magazine in front of him, and trying to pinpoint what had set him on edge like this. Had he heard something? Seen something from the corner of his eye? He could see the whole room from his chair, but maybe there was someone in the kitchen of this small flat.

 

Something moved and Zantafio sprung to action and dashed across the room to where his gun was. In one fluid, well-practiced movement he pulled the gun out, removed the safety and pointed it at the intruder.

 

And dropped the gun.

 

It was just for a fraction of a second, and as he blinked the transparent figure vanished.

 

But he was sure.

 

Spirou, or a ghostly image of him, had stood there in his flat.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Zantafio looked around, making sure the office was empty. He hadn't been in Fantasio's workplace in years, but the office was unchanged. He walked to his cousin's desk, not sure what it was he was looking for. But he'd know what it was as soon as he'd find it...

 

His search was interrupted by the door opening, and before he could react, Spirou stepped in.

 

"Zantafio!"

 

Zantafio estimated his chances. Spirou was alone, but no way of telling if Fantasio or someone else would soon arrive after him. Just in case, he pulled out his revolver. "Don't try anything."

 

Spirou's body went limb, and he fell to the floor, dead.

 

Zantafio stared. He hadn't fired the gun. Had he? Suddenly he wasn't sure-

 

Zantafio opened his eyes in his darkened bedroom and sat up in his bed. The clock on his nightstand told him it was 4 in the morning. He had only gotten three hours of sleep.

 

He got up. No way he could fall asleep again. Every night, he'd have nightmares. Sometimes they'd be dreams like this, where he was trying to find something, and Spirou would show up, only to die by his hand. Sometimes Zantafio was trapped underground, struggling to breathe, somehow certain this was his punishment of Spirou's death. And sometimes they were dreams of him unsuccesfully trying to shake the dead corpse of Spirou to life.

 

And there were noises. Scratching noises coming from under his bed, behind his door, from the ceiling. How much of it was even real?

 

_You didn't come._

 

Was the whisper just his imagination? A hallucination? He didn't know. Or care.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Zantafio stood at the cemetary gates, and hesitated.

 

 _Come on, you know where my grave is_ , the wind whispered.

 

And he did. Numb, Zantafio walked to the tombstone.

 

The cold wind twirled around him as he stared at the flower-covered grave. _Zantafio_.

 

"You're dead."

 

A cold arms reached to embrace him from behind. _You would know_.

 

"Yes."

 

_Why are you here?_

 

"I never believed you'd die. We had been doing this for decades..."

 

He added. "I'm tired."

 

The arms grasping him suddenly felt far more real. "Then sleep."

 

Zantafio was tired, he could barely keep his eyes open. But he had to know...

 

He managed to slowly turn to face the figure. It was Spirou, looking real. Solid. _Alive_.

 

And young.

 

It _had_ been decades. How old was he?

 

"Spirou."

 

The boy smiled. No, calling him a 'boy' felt wrong too. There was an odd agelessnes about him Zantafio couldn't quite explain.

 

"Zantafio."

 

"Did you ever really die?"

 

The bellhop shrugged. "Not really. I have known I'd have to find a way out sooner or later and you gave me a good excuse. People were starting to notice, you know."

 

"What are you?"

 

"A changeling, a fae, a bellhop. Left in a human care decades ago."

 

He reached a hand to Zantafio. "And now I'm going to return to where I came from."

 

Zantafio reached to take his hand. "What will happen to me when we get there?"

 

Spirou flashed a smile, showing a mouth full of blunt pearl white teeth.

 

 


End file.
